


Ain't The Whole Story

by Desdemona



Category: Walking Dead, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 14:31:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdemona/pseuds/Desdemona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, she needs to think that he's doing it on purpose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't The Whole Story

**Author's Note:**

> First official TWD story and it's really more of a character study. Pardon any editing issues because I'm going to end up reading this at least ten more times once it's up and I'll catch them. Happy reading.

 

She lets herself linger.

She doesn't usually, it's not her way. It's not their way. Lingering breeds moments of deceptive bliss, of promises that can't be kept when tomorrow is always so far away. Still, she lets herself hold on a little longer and meets his gaze as he comes to his feet. He didn't need her help and it's easy to see how far he's come, in moments like this when his hand wraps around hers, stronger than hers but willing to pull it back for her.

Reign it in. Let _her_ in.

Sometimes, she needs to think that he's doing it on purpose. That he's really this self-aware, that he's consciously striving to open for her, the way she's done for him so many times before. Except she knows he doesn't. She'd bet he doesn't realize he's done anything different. That his body language welcomes her in and makes something like yearning roll in her chest.

She's spent a long time learning how to read a man's body.

His fingers are rough and warm, his eyes shadowed when they meet hers. Her fingertips curl into the clasp of his, the pads drifting over heavy calluses deep in his palms. If they were different people, she'd tug gently. Set her nails to his fingertips and hope he followed the pressure. If they were different people, she'd pull until that line between them blurred a little more, until she could listen to the rabbit quick skitter of his heart with her ear pressed against his chest, like listening to the ocean trapped in a seashell.

If they were different people.

But they weren't. She lingers anyway, her hand and her heart warmed by him. When she goes to pull away, turning her head so he can't see how much she wants them to be those other versions of themselves, his grip tightens. A quick, furtive squeeze that brings her swinging back around to face him.

His eyes have gone a deep dark blue, as if the ocean she'd imagined had chosen to fill up his eyes instead, leaving his gaze unfathomable and strangely clear all the same. His eyes chart her face in decisive, sweeping glances as if mapping her features for memory's sake.

Much in the way she imagines him tracking.

He's slow to release his grip like she is and their fingers unfold gently. Her heart rolls down to thud in her pulse and she lets her hand drop from his before he can feel that minute change in her body. She offers a smile, a quirk at the corner. His mouth softens in a split second response and then he's turning away, going back to his prepping.

She steps away but watches him, committing everything to memory. The line of his shoulders beneath the jacket, the shaggy hair in desperate need of care, the way his fingers linger on the bike's handlebar.

His brother's bike.

She stores those memories and curls her fingers in her pocket, to hold onto to the feel of him before heading to Rick to get her marching orders. In the end, they weren't going to change. They'd been given this life to carve their mark in. They'd been forced to adapt, to break and rebuild and break again only to surge back, as sure as the sun rose the next day.

So maybe this was just how they were meant to be. She curls her fingers tighter, trapping his warmth in close, and listens to her heart beat to the sound of his bike kicking to life.


End file.
